


a form in wax. By him imprinted

by Spoon888



Series: Mission And Companion Pieces [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Disobedient Offspring, Gen, M/M, Prequel, Starscream trying to be a good parent, The Overwhelming Power Of Megatron's Coding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Starscream looks at his sparkling and see's nothing but it's sire.





	a form in wax. By him imprinted

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece set BEFORE the events of Mission.

Mission's first word -his first _true_ word- was 'no', declared loudly and righteously in protest of the clean up Starscream was trying to give him. Tiny servos balled into fists, wing nubs ramrod straight, soft face scrunched into something furious.

Starscream's very logical reasoning that Mission couldn't very well be seen about the spaceport with the remains of energon goodies all over his face, died in his vocaliser.

"No!" Mission yelled again, stamping a round little thruster.

The fiery defiance behind the squeak both warmed Starscream with pride and chilled him with worry. To think he had only just been able to start looking at his son without sinking into hollow memories of Megatron -his scowl, his face, his optics- now Mission was going to start acting like him too?

He shook himself out of it, reaching forward and pulling his protesting offspring close enough to rub his smeared cheeks clean.

His sparkling _wasn't_ morphing into Megatron. Logically, they would share traits, he knew that. This was simply an overreaction fuelled by conflicted sentimentality he still held but refused to acknowledge. Because what did it matter if Mission had inherited a fair share of his sire's personality? It was natural. He was sure if the old fool was here, he would have seen no end to aspects of Starscream's own demeanour in their son.

But Megatron wasn't here.

Starscream's grip loosened and Mission wriggled free, batting the cleaning cloth away with melodramatic yelling. "No! _No_!"

"Will you-?!" Starscream hissed when Mission shook his tiny fists at him like a member of a rioting crowd. "Mission, sit still! You're just like your-"

He cut himself off when he realised what he'd been about to say, an awful weight pressing down on his chest. Mission stopped acting like a hooligan long enough to notice, huge red optics blinking up at him questioningly.

It was because he'd been thinking of _him_ , Starscream cursed himself silently. He used Mission's brief distraction to clean the rest of the mess away.

"Recharge time." He decided, too emotionally drained to go out after all.

He scooped Mission up, who predictably yelled and tried to kick loose. Starscream wondered if he would have been so disobedient with his sire. Or if Megatron would have even cared. Starscream couldn't imagine his former commander having much patience for disrespectful sparklings, even if they were his own.

His hab-pod in the spaceport was small, but thankfully private. He couldn't risk Mission's safety around strangers. Sparklings weren't common in this part of the galaxy, and winged ones that bore uncanny resemblance to Decepticon warlords even less so.

With only one berth, he shared it with Mission, which involved being kicked a lot. Yet the alternative was somehow less pleasant. He'd grown so used to his son's presence, his even breathing and soft spark beat, that it was harrowing to wake in a berth alone now.

He lowered Mission to the sheets and as soon as the sparkling was free he scrambled to the end of the berth, snatching up a pair of toy ships and smashing them together with a clack and creak. Starscream sighed, moving to relieve him of them.

"Recharge time." He said, "Not playtime."

He prised one toy out of Mission's servo, and out of frustration, Mission threw the other across the room angrily. Starscream gave him a look, collecting it and tossing both back to the bottom of the berth.

"You _are_ like your sire," he said aloud this time.

Mission didn't care or notice anyway. He may not even have known what a 'sire' was.

Would the similarities only grow more prominent as time passed by, Starscream wondered, tickling Mission between the wings to wipe away his scowl and have him flop back against the covers. Would he wake up one morning to discover a revolutionary warrior in place of a son?

He drew the covers up, smoothing them out indulgently when Mission's optics began to dim with tiredness.

"You be good." He told him.

"No," Mission said quietly, rubbing a fist against his optic.

Starscream let himself smile. Mission's optics shuttered closed and his mouth fell open with soft even breaths. Asleep in no time. That was one similarity he did share with Megatron.

That, and the scowl.

 

* * *

 

Starscream let the shanix spill out across the table. He dragged them back towards him, counting quickly and stacking them orderly.

Mission's curious face appeared at the other end of the table. He was just tall enough to see over the top of it. A stubby servo reached over, fingers making a grab for the nearest shanix, thinking he was being sneaky.

"No," Starscream slapped him away lightly, keeping the rest of them clear of greedy little sparklings.

"What is it?" Mission ducked under the table and crawled over to his side. Starscream felt him grab at his thigh, wanting to be lifted.

"They're shanix." Starscream explained, frowning when he realised he was a little short.

"Can I have one?"

"No. They're useless here anyway." Starscream explained. "I'm going to change them into galactic credits."

Mission looked interested. "Where'd you get them?"

 _Lockdown_ ; Starscream thought, and wasn't going to say why. "It doesn't matter. It's enough to buy transport out of this place."

For reasons beyond his own compression, Mission looked miserable. "Why?" He complained, face pressing into a scowl. "We live here. This is our home."

Delusion. Starscream rolled his optics.

"It's hardly anything to shout about." He muttered, seeing as it was pointless going into details. The spaceport was a dirty, disease ridden little hovel filled with criminals and pleasure drones and drunks. It wasn't home. Nothing on this side of the galaxy could ever be home.

He thought of the _Nemesis_ and it's dark hallways. The optic piercing brightness of the outdated monitors on the bridge and the creaky standard issue berth slabs. Of the mess hall and it's tables that were always sticky. Of the throne with the black scorch on it's back that no one had ever been able to scrub away- from when he'd once fired at the mech sitting on it.

"This isn't home." He dropped to gaze to where Mission was deliberately stepping on his pede, his tiny digits curled in his shin armour. "We're leaving, and we don't ever want to come back here."

"But my stuff-?"

"It's coming with us." Starscream reassured him, dropping a servo and brushing it over Mission's helm. "But we need to be quick. And quiet. We can't let that thug Silversmith see us leaving."

Mission's young face turned serious with determination. He disliked the landlord just as much as Starscream did, though his reasons weren't so personal. Either way, Starscream wasn't paying the greasy pawed creep for their time spent in his lodgings. He'd taken enough already.

"Where are we going to go?"

"I'll work that out later." Starscream told him. Having counted up the shanix he swept them into his subspace. "Somewhere safe, hopefully."

He muttered that last part, but Mission had heard him nonetheless.

"I'll keep you safe." He declared, shoulders squared.

"Oh really?" Starscream arched an aristocratic brow.

"I won't let anyone get you. I'll _shoot_ them!"

Starscream looked down at the little seeker that barely reached his knee and sighed. "With what gun, genius?"

"Then I don't need a weapon." Mission changed his mind, holding up fists like a boxer preparing to enter the ring. "I'm not scared."

There was something about the determined scowl, the sureness of his declaration, even the deluded pride, that twisted the spark in Starscream's chest. And if that hadn't driven in knife in deep enough, Mission turned, servos in his hips, face tilted upwards-  a perfect reflection of one of Megatron's old propaganda posters, Mission every bit like the sire he'd never met.

Starscream was sure if Megatron were here he would have been just as patronisingly protective.

Like he _needed_ defending against drunk pirates.

"Stop that." Starscream admonished gently, nudging him a little. "You're not protecting anyone. That's my job. Get your toys-"

Mission scrambled to obey and Starscream took a moment to brace himself against the table and get his emotions back under control. It was going to be a long night. He needed his wits about him.

There'd be time for melancholy later. Preferably when Mission was already asleep.

 

* * *

 

Mission couldn't recall ever meeting Lockdown, just that he had always been around. An ever present figure in his and his creator's haphazard lives.

"He is not a friend," his creator had taken him aside once, long ago, before he could even pronounce 'bounty hunter', let alone know what it meant. "He is an ally- and allegiances change."

Not-a-friend or otherwise, Lockdown was the most frequent caller. He dropped by and visited them, sometimes gave them a berth aboard his ship and filtered fuel. His creator never seemed to appreciate this, but Mission enjoyed the novelty of his visits, and the freedom it allowed him when Starscream and Lockdown were busy working privately in another room.

Lockdown's ship itself was a plethora of interest. He left gadgets and trophies out in the open, weapons mounted on the wall. Mission dragged a crate over to one of them. Climbing on top to see if he'd be tall enough to reach it.

The door to his left opened with a click and whoosh.

"Hey kid," Lockdown's gravelly voice greeted. He swayed lazily as he walked towards him, looking amused. "Little big for yer, ain't it?"

He was referring to the cannon mounted on the wall, at least twice Mission's size, and probably his weight too.

"Where's my creator?" He asked.

Lockdown rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back towards the now closed door to his captain's quarters. "Ah, he's jus' taking a quick five."

Mission looked up at the weapon again, interest easily shifted away from his sleeping creator. He reached for it but a hook nudged his fingers away.

"Careful kid, fusion cannons ain't toys."

"Why is it so big?" Mission asked, turning and hopping down from the crate. Lockdown kicked it back into place.

"Needs to be. Lotta power in the cells. Normal size blaster'd blow apart if you tried to fire fusion outta them."

Mission was still learning about weapons and power cells from his creator, so far he'd only learnt about stun bolts, and other boring things like smoke grenades. A fusion cannon though? That looked like something that could kill someone.

He considered the weapons carried on Lockdown's frame, concealed and otherwise. "Why don't you use it?"

Lockdown shrugged a lopsided shoulder, "Recoil would probably rip my arm off," he laughed, flashing Mission a toothy smile. "Only the biggest, strongest mechs can use 'em."

"Like who?"

Lockdown rubbed the back of his neck again, looking conflicted, "No one you need to worry 'bout, c'mon kid, back to the flight deck. Yer creator'll wanna leave soon as he's awake-"

Mission was used to being brushed off. Lockdown nudged him into the flight deck, had him sit in the vacant captain's seat like he hadn't moved from this spot since his creator had left him there some two hours ago. His creator didn't like that he wandered Lockdown's ship, but really, if he was so worried about him sticking his nose into something that could backfire and get him killed he'd just let him sit in on whatever he and Lockdown were doing.

He waited for his creator's return, rolling the seat back and forth on it's track, frowning at the blinking stars in the distance.

Finally he heard talking on the other side of the door. Bored and ready to go, he jumped down to greet his creator.

"-jus' like his sire, ain't he," he heard Lockdown. He sounded bemused. "Not just looks either. Caught him trying take the fusion cannon down-"

"That doesn't mean anything," his creator sounded annoyed. "They're not alike. You don't know my son and you don't know Megatron. Not like I do. Like I did."

"Ain't nothing to get touchy over-"

"Mission is _nothing_ like Megatron." His creator sounded furious. "He is my sparkling. Mine."

The doors opened automatically when Mission stepped in front of them. Starscream and Lockdown's helms snapped in his direction, optics wide with surprise.

Mission frowned at his creator.

"Who's Megatron?"

 


End file.
